The Meaning of Kadan
by Ms Morpheus
Summary: Sten and the f!warden drive each other crazy. Consensual, slightly kinky elf-qunari smut.


**Don't be fooled by the title. It sounds cute. Be forewarned: this is filthy smut and you should know what you're getting into. On the other hand, if you're here for the smut, I will warn you that there's a flimsy bit of story at the start for the pretense of plausibility.**

 **I don't own Bioware or its characters.**

* * *

From the moment she met him, the warden was drawn to Sten. Most people would be grateful to be released from prison, Surana thought. She quickly came to understand that qunari were not like most people. He scowled at her leadership, her magic: her very existence seemed to offend him. Their arguments always ended the same way: Surana trying furiously to make herself heard, Sten resolute in stony disapproval. She might as well waste her time yelling at a tree.

Ever since she found his Asala, they'd forged a grudging truce. Sten was more respectful, though no less obtuse. Once, the warden caught a hint of a smirk when he suggested she be leashed like a saarebas. She was starting to suspect he found their fights amusing.

Not much time had passed since he'd followed her into the Fade itself, only to be lost in its illusions. She dragged him back into the Blighted world, away from memories of his dead companions, and took him on an expedition into the Deep Roads, hoping that battle and purpose would bring him peace. They were searching for ancient artifacts from the First Blight, but had found nothing so far but countless darkspawn and an occasional nug. Surana's feet squished in soggy boots and her knees ached. She looked over at Sten, clunking along in heavy armor, and almost felt sorry for him.

"Let's rest for a minute."

"As you wish."

They stood in a vast clearing in the ruins of a dwarven thaig, the light of their torches too faint to reach the walls. Whatever purpose the room had once served had been obscured by time and decay. The old stone, brittle as dry bones, crumbled at the edges where Surana lay her hand. Cold and rough, the stone seemed to beat, once, twice, against her palm.

"Something's here." Her stomach tensed. With a fluid motion, Sten put his back to hers and drew his sword.

From the darkness came the sound of shifting pebbles, at first a few, then a torrent. Surana cast a fireball up into the air and immediately wished she hadn't. Massive teeth, more than she could count, made more horrifying by two empty pits that should have been eyes. It might have been a dragon once, but centuries spent crawling through corrupted Deep Roads had worn away all but a scabbed, serpentine body and a head that seemed to be made entirely of teeth. The mouth opened with a shrill, foul scream. It was hungry.

Sten lunged low as the creature bit at Surana's flames, his blade scraping against tough hide. The elven warden's reflexes kept her safe, but only just. She darted back, falling as her foot caught and twisted, thrusting her staff between furiously snapping jaws, her flames flowing through the smooth-worn ironwood into the heart of the monster. The beast gave a shriek as Sten's blade found purchase, struggling as fire and sword brought an end to its tormented existence.

Surana's spell died out, leaving only the dark.

"Sten? Are you okay?"

"Yes." He paused. "Can you make light?"

"Not yet. I'm drained."

Time passed, each breath an effort for the warden. She gathered strength to make sparks, enough light for Sten to find a torch. Its tiny glow as he approached seemed like a hearthfire.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just some scratches and a twisted ankle. I was lucky. Let's find a safe place to camp and I'll heal." Long shallow cuts grazed her legs. If the bites were a few inches deeper, she might not have survived. She shook the thought from her mind and cast a healing spell, weak but sufficient for now.

Surana hobbled along with her staff for balance, the qunari slowing his pace when she fell behind. Sten stopped to take her pack, strapping it onto his own. They tried to turn back the way they came, but were quickly lost in the maze of tunnels. Even the walls seemed to change in the flickering torchlight: now warm and golden, now melting into deep blues and bleeding reds, patterns forming and swirling in the stone. She felt feverish, her skin slick with sweat.

"Shit." Surana cursed under her breath. The creature's bite must have poisoned her. She thought about telling Sten, but he could do nothing to help her. They had to find a safe place, fast. She welled up with anger at her companion: for following her on this ridiculous quest, for having the Qun to always tell him the right thing to do. Surana wished she knew how to pray to elven gods. All she knew were nursery songs and stories she'd found in the Circle's library. Her mind was getting hazier, the effort of moving her feet taking most of her focus. Nursery songs would have to do.

"Lath sulevin, lath araval ena…" Why couldn't she remember the rest?

"Lath sulevin, lath araval ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir…" She was so tired. It would feel so good to lie down, to melt into the stone and dream. Surana forced herself to move forward, to walk toward what looked like fireflies in the tunnel far ahead of her. They were enchanting, tiny embers floating forever out of reach. Following the fireflies, she stumbled, she fell, and the darkness swallowed her whole.

"Teth a… Kadan? Kadan!"

* * *

Surana woke to the sound of a babbling stream. There was the smell of earth and minerals, pungent and full of life, bringing vague memories of childhood before the templars took her away. The ground was hard beneath her: she ached like she'd slept a century on a bed of rock. The warden breathed in and her lungs flooded with warm humid air. Her eyes opened, expecting sunlight, seeing only a phosphorescent blur. Cautiously, she began to move her hands, prodding her injuries. Rough-woven linen had been carefully wrapped around her legs: she smelled faintly of elfroot salve. She lay on a thin blanket, dressed in an oversized linen tunic, and, to her great embarrassment, nothing else.

Surana rubbed her eyes and looked around. Above her were the roots of an enormous vhenadahl: the tree they nourished must be larger than any she'd ever seen. This place, whatever it was, lay beneath sacred ground. Deep mushrooms grew like ornaments throughout the living cave, casting a soft blue glow. She propped herself up on her elbows for a better view: the vhenadahl's roots plunged down into an underground spring not far from where she lay. Sten stood waist-deep in the water, cleaning his armor. The pieces he'd finished with were neatly arranged to dry. Asala lay sheathed in front of her, handle gleaming.

Surana felt safe, as though somehow the vhenadahl was protecting her. A silly thought, she knew: raised in the Circle, she wasn't even a proper elf. For a while she watched Sten methodically wash the dust and blood from his armor, light playing across his chest and arms as he moved, shadows outlining the scars of past battles. Sten finished with his pauldrons and turned to set them down, and saw that she was awake.

"There is food in the packs."

"Where are we?"

Sten glanced up, then said matter-of-factly: "In a cave, under a tree."

"How did we get here?"

"I carried you. You are small."

Surana was getting angry. "Yes, but how did you find this place?"

Sten looked annoyed. "Parshaara. You should know. I followed your magic."

So the song was a spell? Surana tried to remember which god she should thank. Before she could carry the thought further, Sten climbed out of the water, seeming utterly indifferent to his wet, naked body. He knelt beside her and, without a word, began to unwrap the bandages on her legs. His hands were rough and callused, their touch gentle as he examined her wounds. Lines had been drawn on her legs to follow the spread of infection, like the rings of a tree. Surana had slept longer than she thought.

"Much better", he said, fingertips tracing old marks along her thigh. She forced herself to keep still: did he realize how intimate this was? She looked at his expression, impassive and clinical, and decided he didn't.

The warden thanked him awkwardly, tugged down her tunic – Sten's tunic, she realized – and limped over to her pack to retrieve some nuts and dried fruit. She ate in silence: Sten went back into the water to finish washing up. Looking around for her clothing, she found her mage robes neatly draped across a root to dry, the torn skirts already mended. Her stubborn qunari had looked after her gear before his own. And her body, she thought, remembering his touch.

Surana felt exhilarated, reckless. Perhaps she was feeling lucky to be alive, perhaps the formidable sight of Sten's naked bronze body had stirred certain appetites. Making sure she was in his line of sight, she walked to the water's edge, stripped off the tunic in one graceful movement, and dove in. The water was hot, tasted faintly mineral, and felt wonderful on her skin.

Pretending to ignore the qunari, she bathed, letting the fresh spring water wash her clean. Invigorated, she cast a powerful healing spell. Wading back to the shore, she retrieved a few items from her pack, and set about washing and combing her hair. With a hot spring for her bath and glowlight for her candles, Surana felt grander than any arlessa.

Sten had repaired her armor: if she understood correctly, this was a sign of affection and respect. It seemed only fair to return the gesture: Surana assured herself she had no ulterior motive. She swam over to him, picked up his greaves, and set to work.

Sten looked surprised, stared at her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve. She kept to her task, small breasts bouncing slightly as she scrubbed and polished. With her help, it wasn't long before his entire set of armor was tidily arranged to dry next to hers.

"Thank you, kadan." He seemed even more solemn than usual.

"You called me that before, didn't you? What does it mean?"

He didn't answer. Turning away, he began to take down his braids to wash his hair.

Frustrated, she splashed him. "Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?"

He looked at her blankly, saying nothing.

"Fine, I'll guess. Kadan means boss."

Nothing.

"Asshole?"

His eyes crinkled, just a bit.

"Annoying elf who you pretend not to like but secretly..."

"Parshaara. You wouldn't understand."

She paused to think. "So, what is a kadan supposed to do?"

"You could help with this." He gestured to his hair, hopelessly tangled. Surana nodded, curious. Sten knelt in the water, nearly as tall on his knees as she was standing. Slowly, carefully, she finished undoing his braids.

"You are not gentle", he protested.

"Stop complaining."

She washed his hair, using oil to loosen the knots, combing them through. He gave a pleased grunt when she worked her way up to his roots, massaging oil into his scalp, lingering longer than necessary to make up for the earlier discomfort. It felt good to give pleasure, for a change. Suppressing the unexpected urge to kiss his sturdy neck, she combed through his hair one last time and admired her handiwork.

He turned, mouth betraying the hint of a smile. "You are an annoying elf."

"You are… a frustrating qunari, _kadan_." His expression softened when she spoke the word. It occurred to her how close he was, how far away their clothes were. Surana wondered if he could see her blush in the soft subterranean light.

"I wish to touch you", he said. Sten knelt motionless before her: not a word wasted, but his intentions were clear. Her heart raced. She thought of how close she'd been to death, of how fucked up the whole world had become. She looked at Sten, her immovable enigma, who followed her where Grey Wardens go to die just because she asked him to. Fuck the Blight, fuck the Circle, fuck the looks she'd get at camp. She wanted him.

"Is that allowed? By your Qun?"

"It is not forbidden." Perhaps only because the ashkaari had never thought it necessary to forbid qunari from bedding saarebas. It was unthinkable. _Not forbidden_ , Sten reminded himself.

"Yes", she said, reaching in to stroke his hair. Like a force of nature, his right arm pulled her in against him, mouth pressed hard against hers, tongue forcing itself in, the fingers of his left hand lacing painfully tight into her hair.

She gasped, pushing back. "Slow down!" He stopped, confused.

"Like this", she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him softly, slowly.

"What is the point of this?" he asked, and she responded by leaning in to press her breasts against his massive chest, parting her lips slightly, working her tongue in languid swirls. He grunted, as though begrudging her the point. This was… not unpleasant.

Surana traced his mouth with her fingertips, kissed his neck, bit playfully at an earlobe. Sten's body trembled, desperate for release: it had been months since his last visit to the tamassrans. This was a mistake. His kadan was a saarebas, a dangerous thing. And she was so small: beautiful, powerful, but no match for his size. Surana wrapped her legs around his waist, buoyant in the water, belly smooth against his growing erection.

"I… this is not safe."

"Trust me." Her hand, still slick from oiling his hair, slid down his chest, caressed his muscles, found the trail of downy hair on his abdomen, grasped his cock. Sten closed his eyes and saw red. Aroused and slightly terrified by his size, Surana tried to imagine what he would feel like inside of her, fingers and thumb forming a taut ring around the head of his cock, her beckoning strokes a promise of future pleasures, teasing him before letting her hand slide down to the root and cradle him beneath, fingers too small to reach all the way around him, bracing him against her belly and working him with her hand. He couldn't hold out long. Sten moaned loudly, clutched her tight, and spent his seed into the swirling water.

Surana purred as he pressed his face into her neck, stroking his hair as she waited for his ragged breathing to slow. Sated for now, he looked into her wide elven eyes, saw need as great as his own. Sten put his hands on her waist and lifted her up to kiss her breasts, biting gently at her nipples. He liked being in control: the thought of conquering his saarebas was already making him hard again. As if to show her how strong he was, he picked her up effortlessly and threw her over one shoulder, perfect little ass in the air. Being in the water was no longer useful, he decided, climbing out of the spring to lay her down on the blanket.

"I wish to kiss you", he said, parting her legs to expose her sex. "Here."

"Yes", she said, this time not minding the insistence of his tongue, clumsy but eager to please. She coached him into a slow, steady rhythm, and once he'd found the right pace, settled back to let her orgasm build, arms above her head in sweet surrender. That was all the encouragement he needed, lapping hungrily as her breathing grew shallower, faster, until at last she cried out in release. Satisfied, he rested his head on her belly and breathed in her scent: this was as good as he'd imagined it would be. Once her breathing had settled he started again, this time reaching down to slide one thick finger into her: Surana crying out as he entered her slowly, Sten ignoring her pleas for faster, more. She was wet and impossibly tight: he imagined what it would feel like to be inside her, deliberately taking his time bringing her to climax, curling his finger as she rocked against him, his tongue having no trouble finding her rhythm a second time. She came forcefully, cursing him, shaking for what felt like an eternity. Sten was pleased.

"More", she panted.

He frowned. "You are too small."

She frowned back. "You are too big."

He lay beside her, gathered her into his arms, and thought for a while. "Only one of these truths can change." He stood up.

"I overheard you talking to Morrigan. What are you…" He had retrieved Asala, and her bottle of oil.

Sten smiled, and began oiling the handle of his greatsword. Surana was speechless.

She said nothing as he moved to lie atop her, his bronze body nearly as hard as the stone below. Asala lay next to them, set aside for now. She was mad with desire, mad enough to entertain the thought of what he was suggesting. Sten's mouth found hers, kissing her the way she'd kissed him at first: softly, slowly. She felt his cock hard once more against her belly, opened her legs for him as his hand slid down, wrapped her arms around his neck as his finger slid back into her in long, slow strokes.

"I wish to make you ready for me."

Surana moaned.

"Does that mean yes?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes." She must be crazy, she thought, feeling his finger slip out of her, only to be replaced by cool, hard metal forcing her apart, so very far apart. Sten kissed her forehead, her eyelashes, watching her expression as he entered her. Asala's handle filled her, but it wasn't yet far inside her. It was too much to feel good, but she didn't want him to stop. Her body needed time to accommodate, and she felt the overwhelming urge to have his cock in her mouth.

"Come here." She guided him to kneel behind her, his knees straddling her shoulders, tilting her head back to lick the tip of his glans, bringing out a low moan and a tiny drop of seed. She'd been passive long enough. Although she couldn't take much of him, her nimble fingers slid down his shaft as she sucked, tracing circles with her tongue, opening her mouth as wide as she could. Sten fought the urge to grab her hair, let her enjoy him as she pleased, and when he could wait no longer he leaned forward, grasped the sword between her legs, working her with Asala's handle as she pleasured his cock. Sten's flesh and Sten's weapon were hers.

"Parshaara!", she shouted, stopping just short of orgasm. Her use of qunlat got his attention immediately.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." Sten removed Asala and lay it reverently down. Surana thought of how she might make use of it later. For now she was no longer content with his sword. His body was divine, chiselled muscles gleaming, cock engorged and ready for her, but he made no move to claim her. She'd said _enough_ , after all. She appraised him, traced his scars with her fingertips, made sure she knew what she wanted.

"I want you to take me", she said.

"Yes."

"Like you want to. Like a qunari."

"Not yet. You are not ready."

She was so small, so beautiful. He didn't want to hurt her, but he wanted more than anything to be inside of her, to fill her completely. He needed this, and, as he discovered, so did she. His saarebas lay down before him, naked and vulnerable, trusting him, surrendering herself to him. He thrummed with anticipation as he made his cock slick with oil, anointed her sex with his fingertips, taking time to stroke her until she purred, until flames escaped her open palms to dance against the rock.

She cried out when he entered her, so tight around him he thought he would break her. He stroked her hair, whispered to her in qunlat, took her hand and kissed her tiny fingers.

"Keep talking", she said, enthralled by his melodic words even though she couldn't understand them, drowning in lust and pain. He spoke the Qun to her, a balm for her soul. Surana's eyes opened, looked straight into his. Feeling her body submit, he kissed her deeply, pinned her arms above her head, laced his fingers into hers, thrust into her until he had taken her fully.

"Now, kadan, if you would have me."

"Yes." It was less a word than a long, slow incantation. Her eyes were half closed, her skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

She would need something to bite. He led her over to a vhenadahl root as high as his waist, bent her over it, bound her hands neatly behind her with his tunic, put one of her leather gloves between her teeth: Surana accepted all this without question. She felt a part of something greater than herself, sacred and profane. Sten bent down over her, his chest against her back, spoke to her in qunlat, his words like honey in her ear. She felt helpless and immeasurably powerful all at once.

Surana felt his arms wrap around her, lifting her up, ached as his cock pressed against her, made muffled cries into her glove as callused fingers parted her and he took her again, sore and unbearably full, vhenadahl root firm under her belly, rough fingertips teasing and stroking her to orgasm, Sten grunting as she came around him, hands moving to grab her hips, losing himself in the act of fucking her, taking her without mercy, without sanity, roaring as he felt the heat of climax build in his cock, his heart, his soul, seed pulsing into her, his saarebas, his kadan.

They found their way to the surface, eventually. Sten insisted she rest, cared for her injuries, learned new ways to give and receive pleasure. It wasn't until much later that he told the warden the meaning of kadan, but by then it was clear that she already knew.


End file.
